


cracking wood made my little heart tremble

by Anonymous



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Canon, animal cruelty, mentions of sibling abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Thorgil, age 13, is troubled over his little brother's education as they walk home after one of his sparring sessions at the guest lodging.
Relationships: Olmar & Thorgil (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 2
Collections: Anonymous





	cracking wood made my little heart tremble

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how old Thorgil is supposed to be, but I'm writing them about 7 and 13 in this one. Nothing shippy here due to their ages. In this time period, you'd be considered an adult around 12 years old, so they both refer to Thorgil as one.
> 
> @ vincestsaga on twitter for more brocontent!

Thorgil never knows whether he wants to shove his brother or laugh at him, when he's blubbering like this. On the one hand, he's acting like a big dumb baby. But on the other, he looks so dumb it's kind of funny.

He's been crying off and on ever since Thorgil took a slice on his arm at sword practice. They're almost halfway home now, and the sting's starting to fade, but every time Olmar looks at the bandage he starts to tear up again.

"You can't watch me practice anymore if you're gonna embarrass me like that in front of the guests."

Olmar hiccups. "How come we have to care what they think?"

He's _so_ stupid Thorgil almost does shove him. "'Cuz I'll kick your arse, that's why. Is that what you want?"

Olmar's eyes go wide like they always do when he hears a bad word. "N-no."

They walk in silence for a while, Thorgil trying to feel how far the pain travels when he tenses his arm different amounts, and Olmar thinking about whatever the hell goes through his thick head.

They're a lot closer to the main part of the farm when Olmar speaks again. "Do you really have to fight them like that?

"'Course I do. Don't you know how rich Dad is? No one else is gonna fight me."

When Olmar was really little, Thorgil used to imagine he'd got kidnapped by somebody for ransom, and he'd go around in the woods pretending he was finding the kidnappers and killing them. He knows now that was stupid. He wasn't even allowed to hold a real sword back then. And plus, anybody who stole Olmar would've just killed him right off, he was such an annoying baby.

That does make him feel bad. Thorgil doesn't want anyone killing the poor kid. He ruffles Olmar's hair. "I'm gonna go off and fight once I'm bigger. I've gotta practice a bunch first so I can catch up to all the poor kids. _They_ have to fight to survive every single day."

"Every day? Really?"

"Oh, it's a bloodbath. You'd probably be dead right now, if we were poor."

Olmar looks down at his feet, kicking the dirt up thoughtfully and sticking out his lower lip as he tries to absorb that. He might not be old enough to understand the idea of maybe being dead, if things were different.

"These are just baby fights, anyway. They're not really allowed to hurt me. I won't need this kind of practice much longer." Thorgil wishes he was allowed to carry his sword around, so he could do something impressive with it now. Dad says he has to leave it at the guests' lodgings, though, until he's gotten really good with it. 

"You want them to hurt you?" His brother looks up at him, eyes wide again.

"I want to know they could. That's the whole point of fighting."

"But..." It's obvious Olmar knows this is going to piss Thorgil off, and he looks away, squeezing the hem of his tunic in a fit of shyness. "If they really hurt you bad enough, won't you die?"

"Like I said," Thorgil says, calmly. If Olmar thinks he's going to be pissed off, then he won't let himself _get_ pissed off. "That's the point. You fight someone who could kill you, and when you win you know you're better. That's how the whole world works, stupid."

"I'm not stupid!"

"Well, you're a wimp."

"I'm not either! And I wouldn't be dead if we were poor. Just ‘cuz I don't have to fight other kids doesn't mean I couldn't if I tried."

"Fine. Show me." He hands Olmar the rock he's been carrying with him. At first he thought he might hit Olmar with it, but the mood passed. Now he sees what it was meant for.

Olmar takes the rock hesitantly. "Show you how?"

Thorgil points at the pen they're walking by. It's full of sheep, some grazing and some just standing around thinking sheep thoughts. "Try taking one of them out."

"But..." Olmar holds the rock out away from his body, not quite daring to drop it. "Dad always says..."

"They're our livestock too. Come on, it's so easy a baby could do it. They can't run away or anything. Some kids have to hunt, you know."

Olmar looks down at the rock. "Um... can I watch you first?"

Thorgil rolls his eyes, but he goes off searching for a big enough rock anyway. If he does it, Olmar'll be out of excuses.

He picks a lamb that's standing away from its mother. It screams pretty loud when the rock hits. Thorgil's heard them scream louder, when he gets bored at slaughtering time, but this isn't too bad. And no Dad around to lose his shit about it. Says it makes the meat go off, or something.

When he says that, Thorgil tells him to just give this meat to the slaves, then. But Dad never seems to get it, and he hovers around until Thorgil starts doing the slaughtering right. He won't come up close and give him a good beating, though, even though that'd be the fastest way to solve things. Maybe it's an old person thing, or maybe there's just something about Dad that makes him hard to understand. And maybe he passed it down to Olmar, because the kid's a real mess sometimes.

Olmar whimpers as the lamb starts limping back to its mother, and his own throw drops to the ground just a foot from the fence, and arcing to one side, too.

"You suck!" Thorgil says, jumping down from the fence in disgust.

"Your arms are way longer." Olmar hops down quickly to follow him, and his little legs buckle when he hits the ground. "And—and you picked a really big rock, too. I can't throw it if it's that big."

"I bet you didn't even try." He wipes some fence splinters off Olmar's front. "Look, you got all dirty too. Mom's already gonna be mad enough about my ripped sleeve."

Olmar lifts his arms to check for more debris. "Did you have to pick the baby?" he asks softly, wiping under his armpit and looking away.

"It's not a baby, it's an animal. _You're_ the baby."

The lamb isn't screaming anymore, because even sheep know what a waste of time that is. It's sticking close to its mother—not that she can do much to help it, since she's just a dumb sheep. But they're both smarter than his little brother, apparently. Even when they live on a farm, animals don't show when they're hurt, because something inside them knows they're supposed to be out in the wild, surrounded by things that want to eat them.

Of course, they're surrounded by that on a farm too, so it doesn't make much difference for them. People are just predators that can afford to keep them strong and healthy before they're killed.

Thorgil's kind of proud of how much he's managed to figure out about the world, even though he and Olmar are kind of farm animals themselves with all the money Dad has to keep them safe. He's glad he didn't grow up in a noble family, at least. Those kids must be totally clueless.

Thinking about that cheers him up a little bit. It's not really Olmar's fault he's so slow figuring things out. Dad's older than he was when Thorgil was a kid, and thinking a lot more about raising an heir. Olmar's so coddled already, it's only Thorgil who bothers teaching him the important stuff.

"Don't cry again, stupid. It's just a dumb animal. Come on, I'll show you this bush I used to go to out in the woods. It makes the coolest sticks." He's a grown-up now and way past playing with sticks, but Olmar's about the right age. It'll be good for him, too. The wooden swords they get to use at home are pretty cool, but there's something about a stick that stirs a little boy's heart up.

"Really?" Olmar perks up a little. 

"Yeah. You're gonna love ‘em. They're not for little babies, though, so you better shape up or I might not be able to take you there."

"I'm not a baby," Olmar says, wiping his eyes furiously. "I'm almost grown up too. You're just mad ‘cuz I'm gonna be taller than you someday."

"Oh, are you?" It's really not looking that way. It's already obvious Thorgil takes after Dad more than Olmar does, and that side of the family's way bigger.

"I am! And maybe—maybe I'm..." Olmar looks around quickly for Mom. "Maybe I'm gonna kick _your_ arse, once I am." He nods to himself, he's so proud of getting the word out.

That makes Thorgil laugh. "Yeah? You better start catching up soon, then."

A farm isn't the worst place to learn about life. There are animals all around Olmar, doing their animal things. He'll get it eventually, once it clicks for him that the lamb he feels so bad for now is going to be sitting in front of him one day for dinner.

He holds Olmar's hand through the woods without complaining. Not because he's humoring him, but because Olmar wandering off and getting lost is the last thing he needs. Somebody around here's got to keep this kid on the right path.


End file.
